


Take The Shot

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Series: Take The Shot [1]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Assassins & Hitmen, F/M, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6558937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this life, you have to decide between selling and being sold. This is how Lex survives. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take The Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2006. Repost.
> 
> Inspired by a recent film noir marathon and svmadelyn 's Thirteen Challenge, which I sadly didn't finish on time. Unbeta'd. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters herein are the property of DC Comics and Warner Brothers.

Lex Luthor knew about every bullet known to man. He could also describe every gun to the match each bullet like a man could describe the best meal of his life or his first sexual encounter. Details were everything. The probability that anyone would absorb any of said facts would be minimal, since they’d be dead by description number six.  
  
Lex Luthor was an urban legend of Suicide Slums; a man as deep as the shadows and twice as invisible. Alexander Luthor had been a boy here, but Lex Luthor was the man that emerged. People here in the Slums tended to mind their own business; never talking about matters that really didn’t concern them.  
  
It didn’t matter what they heard; they never saw _anything_ _anyway_.  
  
Anything was never more solid than the babblings of a brook. Lex Luthor was the best hit man in all of Metropolis, the Midwest, if the things that were said actually happened to be true: then he was the best in the nation. As stated before, no one saw anything; it was what they didn’t see that said more about all the things they couldn't possibly imagine or speculate about.  
  
That gleam in the eye spoke of natural human fear, of which he had none. Anyone who happened to get close to him knew that his eyes were a luminous blue, electric even, the black inside…was _dead_ , void of any capacity to have human feeling.  
  
Rumor had it that he was well off. Well off was an understatement in Slum speak, richer than God was more like it. He had to blend in to fit in with the crowds that clustered around the river, luxuriated in the penthouse suites, ran every game in the underworld, wiped their noses on one hundred dollar bills and laughed about it.  
  
Everyone in the Slums knew him by his permanently bald head and constant pallor, but up _there_ no one ever realized he was the _one_ employed to dispatch those that cheated in the game of life or failed in the _business_. It was all a trick that made him so scary; the tilt of his lips, a rare flash in his eyes, the smoothness of his voice like velvet, making those listening not care that he just told them that their death warrants were signed without their knowledge; captivated into not caring was what they were.  
  
An existence like that was hard. Lonely in ways that a normal human being could not tolerate. Lex Luthor didn’t just make due: he made an empire out of solitude with walls as thick as mountains from isolation.  
  
Crazy?  
  
Definitely not, the man was sane to a fault.  
  
Surviving the Lionel Luthor experience as a child could humble the hardest of men. Surviving it as a child created Lex Luthor, a hit man, a contract killer, murderer for hire, a person destined to survive for a greater purpose. It was obvious that Lionel lived with a life full of regrets, despair mostly from his wife’s death- the absolute end-all love of his life and then, shame, guilt and the burden of matricide and patricide. What Lex understood about his father that everyone else clearly failed to realize was that Lionel’s lifetime of misery came from not succeeding at getting his parents’ insurance payout and having to live with the broken shards of what could have been.  
  
What did this teach Lex?  
  
After seventeen years of lessons, he was smarter than nearly anyone found on a college campus and far more dangerous than a Navy Seal gone rogue. He had only one certainty in life: people would sell anything. It was your choice to sell or be sold.  


* * *

Number 137.

Lex knew the exact date, time and style of each of his hits. Methodical to the point that he could easily be labeled a serial killer. Unlike those _sick kooks_ as he’d said once or twice, he didn’t kill for habit or pleasure. He did it for the pay--for the need of the big score. A whale. A giant whale that would cause his sails to unfurl and get him away from this city, this life of violence and the ghosts that walked the streets, reminding him that time waited for no man.  
  
_137_.

He finished the job two hours ago. Too wired to go home, so he headed to the one place he made a habit to visit. Paradiso. Contrary to the name, every dancer, waiter, and willing and waiting piece of trade looked more fallen than heavenly.  
  
Paradiso was half of the most respected alternative burlesque clubs in the nation. Its sister club, Olympias, was located at the other end of the Metropolis Riverwalk. That place had the pretty girls; Paradiso: the pretty boys. No matter what the management wanted to call the place, it was still a peep show like all the rest: poles, booze, and twenty dollar hand jobs—just as long as one didn’t let the management know.  
  
For Lex, it was the only habit he had outside of hawkeyed vigilance and killing for money. A vice more accurately stated. After number 137, he was too wired to sleep and too celibate  to be left alone.

His sleek silver car, cut so finely it looked like controllable lightning wrapped in velvet, fit in easily with the lines of expensive cars driven by old guys ready to turn sugar daddy and those having the proper opportunity to release their inner letch.  
  
Lex wasn’t sure where he stood nor did he really care.  
  
As he strode to the club entrance, the rapid flashes oscillating from red to pink to aqua proclaimed a grand welcome to Paradiso struck him. The colors and décor might have been too queenie for his standards, but the stock was always great.  
  
Once upon a time, there were stories of a leggy brunette on the upper West Side that he seemed to be tapping. After that rumor, there was another about an equally dark and broody man, it didn’t matter if that particular rumor was true or not. No one would dare call Lex anything unsavory, if they cared for their lives or more importantly the dream of children and grandchildren. The lesson he’d taught an unfortunate soul still sat on his private desk. When Lex needed a reminder of how far he’d come, he’d shake the jar to watch the contents swirl around like olives in a martini.  
  
Without any fanfare, Lex walked inside the lion’s den.  Just a quick survey of the parking lot revealed that the place was full with just enough space for him to quickly pass around the tables and make his way upstairs. He steadily climbed the stairs, his gaze only stopping to take in the floor and the nearly empty balcony full of tables. A row of private rooms lined the far side of the floor which drew Lex’s eye. An opportune place to sit with open sightlines to every exit.

Paradiso worked hard to be considered _respectable_ , a tag that trickled down to everyone knowing that there were cameras in the privacy booths that kept simple dances from becoming full-fledged skin on skin tangos. The cameras, everyone knew, had no sound, so close mouth whispers could tell eager beavers to meet the too-hot to trot pretty young thing after his shift with promises of soft sheets and dead presidents to keep both sides of the exchange happy.   
  
Lex took the table that gave him the best view of the stage, privacy rooms, and the stairs. It was the last one, closest to the balcony that let him sink into the shadows to experience the night with a small release of pressure. He brushed his long black duster back then took a seat. The only occupant of the top row, his attention immediately darted away from the empty stage and towards the nicely sculpted blond leading a short pug-faced white collar-type towards the back. The blond, clad in only a pair of vinyl purple hot pants, winked up at Lex discretely. Lex gave a decent smirk at the older man in turn, who nodded and aptly returned his attention to the bubbly purple backside in front of him.  
  
Lex laughed. Until the patron being led, Lex never paid. It was another fact of the Slums that Lex Luthor was as dangerous as he was sexy. A wonderful distinction, but one that rarely got any practice. Lex wore a _Do Not Touch_ sign like everyone else wore skin, except his was bullet proof, stab proof, fire proof and most importantly love proof.  
  
What was it that they said about men and ignorance?  
  
He made another visual circuit of the floor. Too many blonds were swinging around, attempting to move seductively by gyrating to moderately pulsing music. Lex was a type-A brunet lover. Contrary to his now bald state, he was born a fiery redhead like his mother. Maybe that’s why he preferred brunettes, because everything else was too much like old memories that time had finally scabbed over.  
  
His waiter was a peroxide blond, who made the trip up the stairs with more than Scotch in mind. Lex’s less than warm acknowledgment was quickly translated to the waiter that he should do his job and nothing less. One icy look had the blond scampering away while Lex turned back to the shows below. There was nothing really worth any prolonged glances or second thoughts catching his interest. The guys who could be listed in the _would-be_ category were already had some time ago. Lex desired _something fresh_.    
  
The sudden break in music actually stirred Lex’s wandering attention. The sounds of voices as patrons talked made the little club seem more alive—excited in the same way as when something special was in the air.  
  
House lights dimmed to a dusky dark with the other stages gradually shutting down as the center lit up. The patrons continued their affairs until a silky note dropped suddenly, an eastern chimes accompanying dissonant techno beats.    
  
Talking stopped, eyes stared, and Lex sat unmoved. A long figure stepped into the single spotlight. Body clearly tense and coiled as the opening beats continued. Lex recognized the singer’s raspy purr flowing over the sultry tune. The dancer took his cue with the introduction of the vocals; long lean body bending in time with the music’s flowing backbeat. He had grace like water, smooth and flowing.  
  
He walked down the catwalk, moving in rhythm and inching closer to the glistening center pole. From the balcony, Lex could judge the size of the hands passing over the smooth well-muscled chest as large. The face was still obscured but whatever the people below saw was making the crowd hot. Arousal in the air was hot and thick. The dancer twisted, turned and dipped low in his miniscule costume. Black hot pants and the slim thin straps of an obvious thong were pulled up high enough to rest over the deep pelvic indentations, creating a desirous arrow pointing to more than mire earthly delights.  
  
He’d never seen this dancer before. He watched with attention fragmented just enough to save his ass if necessary. The dancer wrapped around the pole like a piece of string, like the most sensual piece of rope to ever exist.  
  
The hard lines of muscle glistened and the soft curves flowed, Lex found himself hard in a way that fast foreign cars only made him. The dancer bent and stroked his body as the lyrics proclaimed that the best thing in life was the touch of one’s own hand. Lex didn’t agree, and possibly everyone watching the sultry exhibit wouldn’t agree either. Lex was sure that the hot and bothered group would each give a right hand to get touched by the dancer.  
  
The dancer took to the pole again. Tan skin bending to the hard cool immovability of the pole. He slithered around it, moving upward, then gradually going down. Long toned legs unfurled, straddling the pole, riding it like it was something else hard and extremely erect.  Just going so slowly.  
  
Dark curls nestled a tanned face that seductively remained hidden in the lights. One more swing around the pole had his long legs flying free with his face tucked away. Lex sat closer to the balcony, waiting for the money shot.  
  
_That face_. Dark sweaty curls framed possibly the most beautiful face Lex had ever seen. If it were possible, Lex would swear the dancer’s eyes landed on him as the dance continued. But a face like that held innocence so pure couldn’t be imitated or duplicated.  
  
At the song’s crescendo, the dancer ground down hard on the pole until he was straddling the floor. The hot pants stretched to a vacuum-like seal, closing over the heavenly ass barely contained inside. He crawled, then stopped, falling to the floor where he slithered like a serpent, back suddenly arching, while lean hips pressed deeper into the dark stage. The repeated action made every viewer imagining himself as the secret lover nestled between those long legs and sliding home as the gorgeous boy arched upwards.  
  
After a final twist, the dancer’s arms released the pole while his leg muscles flexed and grasped it. He sat on it, before dropping his torso backwards and swinging around. His curls falling down, cascading like black rain. The entire path of muscles along his stomach to his neck taut, glistening with sweat. One last twirl before he suddenly arched up to look at the smoldering crowd.

As the music ended, the crowd sat breathless, Lex included.                                                                                 

He’d never seen that particular dancer before. As the lights readjusted for the other performers, Lex lost sight of the new dancer. As other barely dressed young men milled around and danced atop the stage, Lex continued his eye sweep. Even the eager blond waiter would do, if only to help him get closer to the mysterious brunet, so he decided to wait. The lack of appearance stirred Lex’s desire to come again. He had some free time until his next job anyway.

This was how it began and ended for the man Lex thought he’d come to be; after this moment,  he was able to tell the difference between who Lex Luthor was and who he needed to be, because it would make all the difference.

* * *

Seven trips. At lucky number seven and after number 138, Lex sipped his Scotch watching the rather lackluster show that began after _his_ dancer finished. Each time, the dance came to an end; Lex swore the dancer’s eyes landed on him with electric intensity. Lex was really starting to like the game he assumed they were playing.

“Hi.” The gun inside his jacket was drawn and cocked beneath the table, ready to blast his uninvited visitor. Lex set down the Scotch he’d been drinking and turned to face the visitor who’d ventured up to the empty balcony. The first things he noticed were the forest green eyes and full lips, which made him, think of pillows and killer blowjobs.

Lex released the hammer beneath the table, flicking the safety on as he set his weapon on his knee, and Lex swore he saw a flash of something in those green eyes, shock perhaps when his gun dropped. Lex extended an invitation to join him with a wave of his hand. Sitting face to face, Lex could read that there was more innocence than sex in those green eyes. Despite being a killer, the only thing he felt when looking into them was a desire to protect that innocence at all costs.

A loosely buttoned mesh shirt hung from the dancer’s broad tan shoulders, making the barely there shorts with rows of narrow slits down the side obvious. Even in the dimmed lighting, Lex could now see the beautiful face was younger than he’d first predicted. Lex let his face convey his consummate steely cool but inside he felt a warm sense of intrigue.

Lex clutched his glass of Scotch. “Our game seems to finally have broken our tiresome stalemate.”

“A game?” The dancer questioned in a soft, albeit unsure, voice.

Lex released the pressure on the glock and leaned closer to the table. The corner of his mouth crinkled into a small grin. “It’s not a game? Forgive me if I was off base. You’ve thrown me signals the last seven times I’ve been here, or so I thought.” Lex made a gesture of forgiveness with his hands.

The dancer gave Lex a small smile. It was like watching the sun try to peek around the clouds. Lex could only grin wider when he noticed the flush blooming in those perfectly tan cheeks. “That’s okay. I, um kinda have a habit of looking up when I get nervous…you, um just happened to be there.” A little more blush filled said cheeks. “Not that that’s a bad thing, you know.”

Lex tilted his head. “See, you did see me. I knew you were playing hard to get.” Lex took a swallow of his Scotch, eyes dragging careful over every visible inch of naked skin as it burned down his throat. “I’ve never seen anyone dance like you. You’re talented and must make your bosses happy as well as make them very wealthy. I commend you for getting the job done.”

Apparently, Lex’s compliment wasn’t as well received as he’d hoped; the dancer’s dark eyebrows knit together making him look like a consternated puppy. “Dancing is okay…” The dancer answered, haltingly, “It wasn’t my first choice for work... What did you mean by _getting the job done_?”

Now Lex uttered a brief laugh. “Surely, you must have realized how beautiful you are? That little performance you put on makes everyone want you. I doubt I’m the first client to give you such praise.” Lex looked down from the balcony into the sea of dimly lit tables. The alcohol could only be given partial credit for the warmth he felt, the rest was due to the thought of bedding the beautiful boy in front of him. “I’m amazed that you haven’t realized how powerful you are, possibly the most powerful person in this building.” The boy’s cheeks burned exponentially brighter. Despite appearances, modesty was an ingrained character trait of the dancer. “Every time, you walk out on that stage, you turn these men into a pack of salivating letches, and just a word from you would have them at your mercy, if you so choose.”

Lex liked watching the flex and flare of the dancer’s square jaws. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper as he asked, “Does watching me do the same to you?”

The smirk was out in full force, more seductive than menacing at the moment. Lex leaned forward, easily holstering his weapon in one smooth unseen motion. “That depends on your answer?”

The dark lashes that fanned beautiful around eyes peculiar like peacock feathers fluttered rapidly as the boy’s mouth fell into a surprised _O._ Watching the boy’s blush was fast becoming a new addiction; finding out how far it extended, Lex’s next great obsession.  “Yes? Um, the name’s Clark.”

Lex’s reward was a grin capable of illuminating even the darkest corners of Suicide Slums. He reached out, taking one of Clark’s large, soft hands. Lex’s sharp blue eyes bore into the living green. “Nice to meet you, Clark. I’m ready when you are.”

A handful of cash on the table later, Lex had Clark in the passenger seat of his silver Porsche and soon waiting in his bedroom while he stored his guns. Lex would savor the memories of the evil looks thrown his ways as he exited the club with Clark trailing behind him.

Lex had learned the hard way how to spot a honey trap, and innocence as pure as Clark’s couldn’t be faked. So when Clark told him that he had the honor—in less auspicious terms, of course—of being his first, Lex listened to the sound and committed it to memory like the feedback off a perfect shot.

Lex rode him hard and fast, deep and intense all night, giving Clark an impossibly good first time; possibly the best in the history of sex in the human race, if Lex felt like exalting his skills. In a world where imperfect was the norm, Lex refused to believe that Clark was anything except perfect. A rare jewel that Lex had plucked with his hands.  In another life, they could have something stable, perhaps the stuff of legends.

Once Lex sampled Clark’s everything and mapped the fresh terrain of virgin skin like a cartographer excavating a new land, he let Clark sleep in his lush king bed, swimming in Lex’s purple silk sheets. Before Clark drifted off to sleep, he told Lex little facts about the small town that made boys like him, the woebegone tale of his sick mother who was recently widowed, and feeling old at eighteen. The only thing left to do was clean his guns, because drunk off the heady rush of sex and adrenaline, only handling live ammunition could make him feel more alive.

Hours passed under the rhythmic slide and grind of metal together and apart.

 “Mornin’.”

An oiled gun was drawn and barely restrained from firing a shot at Clark. The hitch of the boy’s breath triggered the flick of Lex’s wrist to engage the safety and turn his gaze back to the window. Clark stood in his doorway wearing his flannel shirt and nothing but. The boy might have been big, but the shirt was still too big for him, draping him enough to hide his best assets in the process.

Clark approached carefully with the guns out of sight. “What’s with the guns?” Clark asked him.

Lex shrugged noncommittally. “Hobby,” he replied and looked pointedly at Clark’s pouty mouth, instantly transported to cascade of moments from the night before and the heated kisses that followed.

The memory of those fat lips partaking of and being taken by Lex made him hard. While Clark remained at the room’s edge, Lex packed up his weapons and already had begun the process of compartmentalizing this tryst without promises of returning for seconds.  He never slept with the same person twice unless it was Vicky or Bruce; just another part of his past that taught him hard lessons.

Once the last gun slipped into place, Lex should have sent Clark back to his small towns and late night fame. But Clark’s body called to him like a siren: hot, hard and tight in all the right places. Lex was human after all, so he would succumb to his desire, if only this once.

Lex looked at Clark again, then proceeded to walk over to him, hips moving like water injected with grace. Lex pressed into Clark who was already leaning on the wall—so close together now that Lex saw the deep beds of red inside the grooves of Clark’s  already too red lips and felt a blast of nervous breath tinkle his cheek. Clark’s green eyes went black with excitement when Lex shoved his leg between Clark’s and began another tour of Clark’s beautiful body. He sucked hard on those lips then down the long muscular neck, while one hand tangled in the mess of his black curls and the other clung to Clark’s ass with bruising force. He made Clark moan as he spread his legs wider, extending an invitation Lex would gladly accept.

His phone rang—once, then again and again until Lex pushed off Clark to answer it. A clipped voice filled Lex’s ear giving him an address, a time and a name—nothing more, followed by the dial tone.

Clark had whimpered when Lex stopped touching him. Lex dropped the phone into the assembly of his weapons and stalked back to Clark. He sucked Clark’s neck furiously making up for lost time, enjoying chasing Clark’s pulse with his tongue. Each kiss made Clark so pliant beneath his hands that Lex flipped him over to face the wall. Thanks to Clark only wearing that shirt, Lex’s fingers easily teased at Clark’s wet hole before undoing Lex’s zipper and sliding inside. Lex countered each moan with a kiss until Clark could only rest his head on Lex’s shoulder, riding out the thrusts as Lex pounded away. The fire in Lex’s belly finally exploding as Clark clenched around him and stiffened as he came. Lex felt boneless as he came.

Then he pushed off Clark. It was time to go to work.

The silver sports car cut through the miles with such ease that Lex used time to sit and think. Clark left while he’d been in the shower. The convenient disappearance helped Lex rather than bothered him, because he had a job to see to fruition. The tryst was over.  Lex could keep saying that, but the sheer light that resided in those green eyes and the hotness of those lips said otherwise.

Lex didn’t ask where Clark lived during the day, nor did Clark actually tell him. The dancer only mentioned his farm in some mystical small town. The kid seemed nice, so Lex could only hope that Clark would go home, finding the big city too rough for a small town farm boy like him. Lex tried to stomp out the flame in his chest that tried to tell him he gave more than a slight damn about Clark. The kid was good: too good to live in that damn city, too good to be watched by those dirty men wanting some of his innocence and too good to get trapped in _the life_.

A sign up ahead offered a sunny welcome to Smallville. To him, it was just another small town Lex to pass through, one like the one Clark probably came from. Towns known for random facts and green eyed youths that he shouldn’t think about.

He knew he was in the right place before he pulled his car to a stop. A castle in the middle of Kansas—only the Sentori family could get away with having such a medieval replica in the middle of farming country.

Lex kept tabs on all his marks, the people who wanted them dead and everyone in their organizations. Guns weren’t the only things that made Lex into a dangerous man. His newest mark was visiting the summer home of the Sentori family. A castle as a summer home? What a laugh. Apparently, the guy had been skimming money from his boss which he’d been doing a pretty good job until he’d been discovered, but most notably, he’d been putting his blocks to the boss’s sister, making him dead to rights.

Now, there were rumors now and then, even the things Lex had made note of regarding this particular customer. In his book, it all basically boiled down to the fact that family shouldn’t look at family like that, no matter how stunning they might be.

Lex’s impressive and expertly cut black suit with a deep plum shirt allowed him to blend in with the socializing crowd. Lex needed not wait long for his client to spot him but act none the wiser. Once the mark was in sight, finishing the job only required a quiet moment alone to do his deed.

Dominic Sentori approached him from the side. “Your usual payment.” The envelope slipped easily into Lex’s inner suit pocket. Dominic looked ready to float away until he turned to Lex once again and stated civilly, “I really appreciate your services.”

He knew Lex wouldn’t answer, so he disappeared into the crowd of cheerily decadent people. Dominic always had been the type to make Lex keep a hand on one of his guns at all times. The man was slippery and he used the art of the double cross like a napkin—readily, available and often.

Luckily, Lex didn’t have to wait long for his mark to catch the eye of Dominic’s fair sister. Lex couldn’t fault the man; she was a vision of dark willowy beauty. He waited until the pair finished their final meet, watching from the shadows as Sentori’s sister smoothed out her dress and exited into one long hall.

Lex scanned the empty hall and turned the knob of the closet door. The man’s back was to him, allowing Lex to creep into the darkened room. His light feet carrying him quietly and quickly across the room. A discrete bullet to the side beneath the jacket flaps and an injection to the neck were subtle enough to make any paid off doctor say that the death was natural without too much work to show just that. The body was pushed down to the floor and placed in a distressed position.

139

The job was now in the bag and Lex was one step closer from getting away.

He made it out of the stone monstrosity to slip on his cool black shades as the summer sun rode high in the sky. The body would be found soon and when it was, Dominic would take care of the scene, ensuring that enough props and fake emotion were dredged up to make the man’s death seem like a great loss to the company.

The Porsche’s engine purred upon awakening. Lex sped out of the estate and back to the empty road leading to Smallville’s exit. As he neared a short bridge, a truck approached from the other side. The driver’s attention was clearly not on the road as the truck began to straddle the median. Lex blew his horn and pressed the brakes to slow down. The pedal stuck. The harder he pressed, the more resistance he felt beneath his feet. He reached for the emergency brake but the truck continued straight for him. He blew his horn again, finally getting the driver’s attention before his car swerved towards the guard rail. As Lex finally reached the thing stuck behind the brake he saw a figure standing at the rail and heard a distinctive ticking sound.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Thud.

Boom. Boom.

For the rest of his days, Lex would claim to know how it felt to fly. He never believed in hell, but even he acknowledged that he was certainly going there for all his sins, especially for hitting the person standing on the bridge.

He flew into the warm summer air and fell into the nothingness. When Lex came to, he was cold and every inch of his body ached almost as much as his lungs. Water splashed down on his face. He looked up expecting rain clouds blocking out the sun, instead he realized the water falling down on him came from the person kneeling by his side. His rescuer’s face made him wonder if he somehow made it to heaven; a place where angels had green eyes, black hair, and full lips, who always knew his name.

“Lex?” The angel touched his face and then his body, frantically looking for something. He recognized his phone in the angel’s hand. Lex continued to stare at the angel as directions were given.

The call ended, allowing the angel’s attention to return solely to Lex, following a gentle face touch, “Lex? Can you hear me? Um, it’s me, Clark…your car exploded. I saved you…It’s going to be okay.”

The angel—no, Clark stroked his face and head again. Lex only blinked while too many things ran through his mind at once.

He might not remember what exactly happened before or after he flew, but he knew this: he had a beautiful guardian angel and someone wanted him dead.

Amazing how after taking more than his share of souls, he finally felt alive when rescued by a gentle one. He was the bad man and this was his angel. Maybe, he wasn't so bad that redemption would be granted a second time around. This time Lex would make good on the rotten life he'd led or make others die while trying.

 

 


End file.
